Johannes’s expression hardened, turning grave. It had been twenty years since his mother and Cecelia went missing after their carriage was attacked by ruffians. In that chaotic disaster, he had survived by mere luck, trapped inside the overturned carriage. Although search parties from the marquessate arrived later, his mother and sister had already vanished, spirited away by their captors. If they had spent a year in hiding before eventually reaching Rugvelzet, the timeline held together. If Roselia were dyeing her hair to mask her identity, it would explain why she didn’t share his black hair. As these fragments clicked into place, his heart hammered against his ribs.
“What of Roselia’s mother?”
Noticing the urgency on his master’s face, Rognan spoke with blunt hesitation.
“I am told she passed away eighteen years ago.”
Johannes froze. The hope that had been racing through his veins dropped like lead. He wiped his face, letting out a hollow, jagged laugh.
“I see.”
Was it too late? His mother had suffered from an underlying illness; without the proper medicine from the marquessate, her condition surely would have deteriorated. Why hadn’t she returned, even when she was alive? Was she still being hunted? Did she adopt a false identity to shield Cecelia? He couldn’t be certain. Unless he could travel back in time, it was all speculation—a desperate theory tailored to his own desires. Yet, one thing was immutable: he could not stand by while she—possibly his long-lost sister—was in danger. His expression smoothed into a mask of composure as he turned back to Rognan.
“And the mastermind behind the thugs who tried to kidnap her?”
“We couldn’t find any substantial information. However…”
Rognan fished a small object from his inner breast pocket and held it out.
“We found this on their leader.”
It was a badge, no larger than a fingernail, engraved with a black rose and a snake. It was far too discreet to be a standard heraldic crest; it was a mark meant to be hidden, a secret signifier for those who operated in the shadows.
“Do you recognize the emblem?”
“It is not the crest of any noble house.”
They were well-versed in the coats of arms of every noble family in Rugvelzet. If they didn’t recognize it, it certainly didn’t belong to the aristocracy.
“That makes sense. They wouldn’t dare display a house crest while engaging in such depravity.”
Johannes’s gaze darkened.
“Perhaps… Duke Baltezar, who handles lending for the nobility, might recognize the mark.”
The Baltezar Duchy, while publicly known for investing in schools, libraries, and hospitals, operated a vast, shadow-grown lending empire. Johannes knew their reach extended to the Imperial Family and even foreign nations. If anyone held the keys to Rugvelzet’s underworld, it was the Duke.
“I must meet with him.”
* * *
Two men sat in the silence of Klaus’s private parlor. It was a space dimly lit and solemn, far removed from the bright, airy rooms where Closette usually moved.
“I expected you to be busy, but you accepted quite readily.”
Johannes broke the silence first. Klaus replied with a blunt, clipped tone.
“I simply had an opening in my schedule.”
Johannes possessed a relaxed, upright presence that stood in stark contrast to Klaus’s cold, sharp edges. Yet, behind his easygoing demeanor, his gaze was so piercing and steady it seemed to challenge the very atmosphere, as if he were a giant tree refusing to be moved by the wind.
*I see why they call him the pillar of Laphelios.*
Klaus felt his brow furrow, the image of Roselia climbing into his carriage that day flashing through his mind.
“Was… Roselia… all right that day?”
Johannes scanned the Duke’s face. A man who held Roselia captive through debt. A cold-blooded opportunist. The thought that his sister—or potential sister—was entangled with such a man was deeply unwelcome. Especially if she was actively avoiding him.
“She returned home safely. There is no need for concern.”
The sharp edge in Johannes’s voice didn’t escape Klaus, who stiffened.
“Regarding the events of that day… I offer my apologies once again.”
Johannes went silent. He had all but forgotten the incident where Klaus had attacked him, but this unexpected formality left him tight-lipped. Misreading the silence, Klaus pressed on, determined to maintain his composure.
“I was unaware of your relationship with Roselia. I acted with discourtesy.”
Johannes’s eyebrow arched. *Relationship?* Had Roselia told the Duke something?
“I heard you were old lovers.”
Johannes, midway through raising his teacup, nearly choked. *Lovers?* Why would Roselia lie to the Duke? Questions pricked at his mind, but he sensed she had her reasons. He decided to play along.
“Ah, yes…”
He didn’t know what she was plotting, but his curiosity about her inner world outweighed his annoyance. If she really was Cecelia… perhaps she felt an instinctive bond with him, too? She was too young to remember their shared past, but the thought of his small, precious sister brought a genuine, warm smile to his face.
“It has been a long time since we last saw each other. I have been counting the days until we could meet again.”
Johannes said it with Cecelia in mind, but Klaus interpreted it as a lover’s vow. The Duke’s brow furrowed in involuntary irritation.
“More importantly, what is the reason for this visit?”
Remembering his objective, Johannes pulled the badge from his pocket and placed it on the table.
“This was found on the ruffian who assaulted Roselia. Do you recognize the emblem?”
Klaus picked it up, examining the design with clinical precision.
“It is not a noble crest. The lack of a name suggests a secret organization.”
“Could you look into it? My investigation as a foreigner is limited.”
No matter his standing in Laphelios, his influence in this country was constrained. Duke Baltezar was the far better instrument for this inquiry.
“I was already investigating it. I will accept the item.”
Klaus stared at Johannes, his expression cold as he tucked the badge away. It was a deliberate gesture—a line drawn in the sand, suggesting he alone would be the one to protect her. Johannes smiled, unfazed by the Duke’s show of possessiveness.
* * *
“Antonio! Get ready to go out!”
Closette appeared in high spirits, dressed in her finest. Roselia, still in her servant’s uniform, looked on with confusion.
“What is going on?”
“We’ve been invited to the banquet at Count Blimond’s estate.”
Roselia, having no appetite for social climbing, looked dejected.
“Could you not go alone?”
Closette shook a finger at her, feigning sternness.
“This is no ordinary banquet. The social gathering is just a formality; the art auction is the true prize.”
She flashed an enigmatic smile.
“Who knows? A hidden masterpiece might just appear on the block.”
“Let’s go.”
Roselia grabbed her bag at once. Closette grinned, as if she had expected nothing less, and followed. The auction was intended for charity, mostly featuring mediocre works by obscure artists.
Roselia felt her boredom creeping in until one piece caught her eye: a landscape of ladies at a picnic. At the time, it was attributed to an unknown, but history would reveal it to be the final masterpiece of a great painter, eventually worth thousands of Verans. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the heart-shaped tree hidden in the foliage. She leaned in and whispered to Closette.
“Yes. I hope this finds a good home. We shall begin at 1 Veran.”
Before the moderator could finish, Closette raised her hand.
“10 Verans!”
“A bold bid of 10!”
A red-haired woman in the back, shielded by a fan, lifted her hand quietly.
“15 Verans.”
Roselia and Closette exchanged a look. Even behind the fan, Roselia recognized her—the woman who had visited the Duke earlier, flaunting her status.
Closette raised her hand again.
“30 Verans!”
“35 Verans.”
“60 Verans!”
The room watched the two lock horns. Viscount Clement, the red-haired woman, glared at Closette, fanned by the whispers of a servant—an *Il Domestico*—beside her. As the Viscount turned to bark an order at the servant, her face suddenly went pale.
Wait. Isn’t that servant the man who is supposed to be Roselia’s brother?